


then comes the sun

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s08e021 Existence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: At the end of every journey, there's a resting place.





	then comes the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 11th Lyric Wheel, the 'Transports of Love' Wheel, February 2003. 
> 
> Thank you to Pollyanna for the wonderful, wonderful lyrics.
> 
> For Logan, and for the guys. I love you all.

The train advances over the railway in a soothing, steady rhythm, moving forward towards its destination. Krycek wonders briefly what he's going to find when he gets there, whether it's going to be Heaven or Hell. Then he snorts, amused by his flair for the dramatic, shaking his head at himself even as he does a mental shrug. What does it matter? There'll be no one waiting for him at the end of this journey. 

So he sits, looking out the window, watching trees and mountains and rivers pass by. He loses track of time; the only thing that marks the passage of hours is the sunlight shining in from outside, changing direction, occasionally interspersed by soft shadows. The light seems almost alive, streaming molten through the air, warming everything it touches. Krycek remembers in a flash of yellow-old memory how it fascinated him as a child, dust motes turned to gold as they danced in the bright rays, his small hands trying to catch them only to send them swirling out of reach. In the now, he raises his hands, mimicking those long gone days for an instant. But then he stops, looks at the light as it touches his hands; look at his hands as they touch nothing. Familiar, almost welcome pain stirs inside him, flares for a moment, quiets down. He winces, lowering his hands and making up his mind not to think about the past. 

He looks out the window again; and as he drifts, his mind is filled by images of Mulder, despite his recent resolution. Or, perhaps, in spite of it; Krycek's always been a contrary, and he's never been able to escape Mulder. He asks himself what was it that brought them two of them together, time and again. Was it the universe's own contrariness, or was it fate? _If I really had you once, then I'd have you when I'm gone._ But Krycek's gone now, Mulder's gone; it's all, all gone, lost to him. Swirling, swirling, dazzling and coveted and out of reach. 

And Krycek doesn't have him. 

Huge white clouds in the horizon, getting slowly nearer. Long interlude of shade as the train passes under them. But then comes the sun again, molten, golden, warm as it touches everything. Yet Krycek's hands touch nothing, and inside he's cold. 

The view outside changes gradually; mountains dip down into valleys, valleys flatten and stretch out into plains, the trees thinning in number, the light brightening in intensity. Rivers flow, furious and calm, shimmering in the sun, water seeming like light, reflecting the sky, becoming one with it. 

Without any early warning, the train whistles and slows to a halt. The sudden, absolute silence is disconcerting, and Krycek rises to his feet, making his way to the exit, surprised to be carrying less baggage than he thought he would be. 

His surprise only grows when he steps down onto the platform and sees Mulder standing there. 

"What took you so long?" Mulder asks as he approaches. And his words rumble and crash through Krycek, moving like thunder, jagged as lightning, and Krycek feels it, remembers it all, the lack of inflection in Mulder's voice, the total absence of emotion in Mulder's eyes as he's shot down in front of him. And god, even dead it hurts, it stings, it burns. 

"I took the scenic route," Krycek rasps, swallowing hard before frowning at Mulder. "What-? _How-?_ " 

Mulder shrugs. "Final stop," he says matter-of-factly. Then, more gently, "I missed you." 

Krycek stares at him, hopeful, disbelieving. 

Mulder's face softens. "It took me a while to realize it, but you have me, Alex," he whispers. Mulder looks around them, and up, and finally at Krycek again, sun blazing everywhere. "You have me," Mulder assures him. "Forever, it seems." And he raises his hand, offering it to Krycek. 

Krycek steps closer to him, fits his palm to Mulder's, left to right. He looks at their hands, laces their fingers together, light touching them both, Mulder's words echoing in his mind. _You have me_ , Krycek's thoughts echo back. "Is this He-?" he begins, trails off. 

"Either one, or the other," Mulder says, shrugging again. "But I think I'll call it home," he adds, nonchalant as ever. And he smiles, tightening his grip on Krycek's hand. 

Krycek smiles back, stepping closer still. And the sun is in Mulder's eyes now, in Krycek's heart. 

Molten, golden, warm. 

And never again out of reach.

**Author's Note:**

> Steel Rails sung by Alison Krauss  
> (Louise Branscomb/One Note Pub.-Sawgrass Music, BMI) 
> 
> Steel rails, chasing sunshine round the bend  
> Winding through the trees, like a ribbon in the wind.  
> I don't mind not knowing what lies down the track  
> Cause I'm looking out ahead, to keep my mind from turning back 
> 
> It's not the first time I've found myself alone and known  
> If I really had you once, then I'd have you when I'm gone.  
> Whistle blows, blowin' lonesome in my mind  
> Calling me along that never ending metal line. 
> 
> Steel rails, chasing sunshine round the bend  
> Winding through the trees, like a ribbon in the wind.  
> I don't mind not knowing what lies down the track  
> Cause I'm looking out ahead, to keep my mind from turning back 
> 
> Sun is shining, through the open boxcar door  
> Lying in my mind with the things I've known before.  
> I've lost count of the hours, days, and nights  
> The rhythm of the rails keeps the motion in my mind 
> 
> Steel rails, chasing sunshine round the bend  
> winding through the trees, like a ribbon in the wind.  
> I don't mind not knowing what lies down the track  
> Cause I'm looking out ahead, to keep my mind from turning back.


End file.
